


Damaged

by duplicity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Heathers Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Angst, Bullying, Drinking, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder, Obsessive Tom Riddle, Sociopath Tom Riddle, Suicide Notes, anyways heathers: the musical is love and life, lots of unhappy tags here oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27097723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity
Summary: All his life, Harry has been beaten and bullied—both at home and at school. When a lifeline manifests in the form of a deal with Bellatrix Black, Harry latches onto it without thinking of the consequences. Not long after, Harry begins to question how far he is willing to go to maintain his newfound popularity at school.New student Tom Riddle is handsome, charming, and dangerous. On the second day of school, he flattens Dudley and Piers in the middle of the school cafeteria. Harry has all the reasons in the world to stay far, far away from him.It's a damn shame that Harry doesn't.An AU of 'Heathers: The Musical'.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 93
Kudos: 177





	1. No Man's Land

**Author's Note:**

> based on 'heathers: the musical', which i know many love and adore. i shall attempt to do it justice.
> 
> also, please note the 'choose not to use archive warnings' has been checked off for a REASON. expect heavy/dark themes in this story. tags will change as i continue to write this out, and i will do my best to warn for heavy content as it comes up. please, please, please read the tags.
> 
> also also, don't expect regular updates for this one, oops. this is more self-indulgent than anything else lsjkdgsfdhkl

A sharp, manicured fingernail dug into the soft, delicate skin under Harry’s chin, tipping his head back. Harry grit his teeth, clenched his hands around the binder he held against his chest. As if it would protect him. 

If Bellatrix Black wanted to ruin his life, there was little he could do to stop her. She was the undisputed queen of Hogwarts. She was, as labelled by the student body, a mythic bitch.

Now, Harry had spent his entire high school career avoiding detection. Or, at least, _attempting_ to avoid detection. Being noticed had never been high up on his list of priorities. Number one in his mind had always been, and would always be, to stay as far away from his cousin Dudley as humanly possible.

But today was different. Today he had seen an opportunity to scrape a favour from the infamous Black sisters. The late bell had rung, leaving all three sisters ensconced in the bathroom. Harry had not known what they were up to in there, but what he _had_ seen was Mrs. Umbridge making her way down the hall, clipboard at the ready, prepared to unleash detention hell upon their heads for daring to linger after the morning bell.

One quick forged hall pass later, and Harry had watched Umbridge scrutinize his pass with a sickly smile on her face. He'd been horrifically afraid that she would spot his forgery and put him in detention—something that would not end well for him, not in the least because the sisters would likely hate him for failing to save them.

A week's worth of detention would be another black mark against him in the Dursley household. Harry couldn't afford to lose his precious after-school time to detentions. He had chores to do, and then homework on top of that.

Thankfully, Mrs. Umbridge had accepted the hall pass and told them to hurry along. Harry had never felt so relieved. His risky, half-assed plan had paid off, and now he could see about getting something out of it for himself.

That said, he was not sure what had prompted him to stick his neck out in the first place, let alone for the Black sisters. They were not exactly nice people, and his entire scheme was idiotic as hell. Harry was lucky to have escaped unscathed—which led to his current situation. Here he was, his neck successfully stuck out. Hopefully the sisters would just let him claim some small favour and escape without further repercussions.

Bellatrix leant in, her expensive perfume wafting in his direction. There was little doubt in Harry's mind that Bellatrix considered herself to be the hottest girl in the school. And that might have been true, if not for the smouldering wreck of her toxic personality.

As it was, anything she tried on him was not going to work.

"Just let me sit with you at lunch today," Harry said, willing his voice to be strong and confident. "And you don't have to talk to me, or look at me, or anything. I just want people to see that you tolerate me so they'll leave me alone."

If Dudley thought he had an in with the Black sisters, then Harry could leverage it. He would get Dudley to abandon his usual game of shoving Harry into lockers during break periods and tripping him in gym class.

“You know,” Bellatrix said, voice sultry and thoughtful, “I’ve always wanted a gay best friend.”

Harry gaped, floundering. “A—what?”

“Tidy up that mop you call hair.” Bellatrix released his chin and dragged her eyes up and down his frame. “A change of clothes.” Her nose scrunched, and she gave the loose sleeve of his jumper a prod. “Something more… form fitting. And you could really be someone.”

First of all, he was bisexual, not gay. Second of all—

“Narcissa, don’t you think little bitty Harry has hidden potential? Look at those eyes. Those cheekbones.”

“He does have nice bone structure,” Narcissa said slowly, eyeing him. “That’s very important. If I took a scalpel to his cheeks, like, plastic surgery, I wouldn’t even need to carve off any baby fat. He’s all angles.”

Now _that_ was because of malnutrition, not because Harry felt he was particularly attractive or anything. “Listen,” Harry said. “I don’t need a makeover. I just want people to see me as less of a target.”

“People like your cousin?” Bellatrix tsked at him, appraising. Her hand stretched out to push at his bangs. Harry flinched at the touch; she withdrew her hand slowly, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t suppose we could lose the glasses.”

“I need them to _see,”_ Harry said hotly.

“Don’t say I didn’t try,” Bellatrix drawled. She snapped her fingers. “Fine. Send your measurements to Narcissa. We’ll have something by tomorrow morning. Be prepared.”

Tomorrow? Harry’s head was already spinning. “Wait—”

“You want to stop being a loser? This is your chance. Yes or no, Potter.”

Harry swallowed. Life was miserable enough at the Dursley’s. If life at school could be even a little bit better… Harry imagined the look on Dudley’s face when he saw Harry sitting with the school’s three most popular girls. Not just sitting with them, but talking to them. Being their friend.

It would be worth it. It would be worth whatever hell he got from his aunt and uncle, surely.

“Yes,” Harry said. “Okay, yes.”

* * *

Harry woke the next morning to his Aunt Petunia pounding on his door. Blearily, he rolled over and jammed his glasses onto his face. Then he caught a glimpse of the clock. It was... half an hour before his alarm was set to go off.

"Harry! Harry, your _friends_ are here asking after you!"

Neville was here? Harry sat up, still disoriented by the rude awakening. "I'm up," he shouted back, hoping that she would leave before her high-pitched wailing gave him a headache.

Then he stumbled over to the window that looked out at the front lot of Number 4, Privet Drive. There was a Porsche in the driveway. There was a Porsche in the driveway, and sitting in said Porsche were the Black sisters.

Bellatrix caught sight of him in the window and smacked her palm down on the car horn. "Get out here, Potter!"

Harry winced at the sound of the horn, which had probably woken up every house in the neighbourhood. With clumsy hands, he cranked the window open and called out, "I'm coming!"

Not ten minutes later, he was hopping down the stairs, jacket half-pulled over one arm, backpack dangling precariously from his left hand. Once his feet hit the bottom of the stairs, he bolted for the door, unwilling to stick around and find out what trouble he was in with his aunt and uncle. Maybe they would cool down while he was at school. He could hope.

Andromeda opened the passenger door for him. "We've got an hour before class starts."

Harry slid in without complaint. "Okay," he said, buckling his seatbelt and wrapping his arms around his backpack, which he kept on his lap. "Where are we going? Or, um, doing."

"We're fixing you up," Bellatrix said. Then her foot must have hit the gas pedal because they went shooting out from the driveway and onto the pavement. Harry, who was still only half-awake and trying to make sense of things, jolted violently in his seat.

Narcissa was scrolling through something on her phone. From this angle, it looked like a list typed into a notes app. She did not look up as she said, "Please do not tell me you wash your face with water. Or worse, with bar soap."

Andromeda caught the look on his face. "Don't answer," she advised. "She'll only go ballistic."

"Shut up, Andy," snapped Bellatrix. "Harry, dear, you're going to listen to what Narcissa tells you to do, and you're going to take what I give you, and you're going to be grateful, do you understand?"

"Er, yes."

Bellatrix's eyes flashed to the rearview mirror, staring him down, and so Harry nodded rapidly for good measure.

"Excellent. We're well on our way to making you into somebody who's worth something."

All summer, Harry had kept himself sane with dreams finishing his senior year of high school and earning a scholarship to somewhere far, far away. His one wish was that he would never have to look at or think of the Dursleys ever again.

"You are in capable hands," Narcissa said seriously, twisting her body to glance over her shoulder from the front seat. "You should see the outfits we've put together. Do you have any idea how hard it was to find blazers in your size?"

"I can't pay you for any of this," Harry felt compelled to say.

Bellatrix laughed, pitched and maniacal. A second later, both Narcissa and Andromeda joined in; combined, the sound was almost harmonious.

"Oh, Harry," said Bellatrix. "Don't be naive." Her voice sharpened at the end, flattening out. "There's nothing I can't afford. Your ascension to popularity will be the pinnacle of my success. After all, if I can turn _you_ into someone desirable, I can do anything I set my mind to! This school lives and dies by my hand, don't you see? I can make you into _anyone."_

Anyone but himself. Harry inhaled a deep breath. One last year of school. He could do this. He _would_ do this, and then he would leave it all behind.

* * *

Exactly an hour later, Harry was wearing the strangest set of clothes he'd ever worn in his entire life. Bellatrix had confiscated the jeans and t-shirt he _had_ been wearing, saying that she planned to burn them in her fireplace. Harry wasn't entirely sure if she was kidding about that or not, and he was too afraid to ask for his clothes back in case she changed her mind about helping him _and_ decided not to give back his clothes.

Very vividly, Harry could recall two years ago when Dudley had stolen his gym bag and left him in the locker rooms in only his boxer shorts. People had laughed at him then. He didn't particularly want to repeat the experience with a bunch of girls.

Nervously, Harry tugged at the jacket Narcissa had picked out for him. It was... bright blue. Not at all a colour he would have chosen for himself if given the chance. Harry preferred to blend into crowds, not stand out from them. And the jeans he was now wearing—Bellatrix had said they would make his legs look longer—felt uncomfortably restrictive.

But after the sisters had finished fussing over him, they had forced him to look in the mirror, and he had to admit... he did look pretty nice.

Harry had never imagined his hair could be tamed into anything resembling tidiness. Andromeda had gone through four different brands of hair gel before they'd stumbled across something that both worked and didn't make him look as though he'd just stepped out of a rainstorm.

"Chin up," Bellatrix directed as she steered her car into the lot. "No talking. If someone speaks to you, you wave and smile and _keep walking."_

So Harry kept his chin up. He smiled and waved and did not speak. In a way, Bellatrix's directions were a blessing—if he had tried to interact with anyone, he would have made an idiot of himself. Which, he realized, was probably why she had told him to keep his mouth shut.

People stared at him as he walked by. Harry caught snatches of their whispers and fought the urge to hunch his shoulders and hide behind Narcissa. It seemed that most of them did not recognize him, even with his glasses on. They thought he was someone else. Someone new.

The weird, dream-like quality of his bizarre popularity held until he made eye contact with Neville. Neville, who did a visible double take before he came ambling over.

"Um, I'll be a minute," Harry said to the sisters. "I'll see you at lunch?" he added hopefully.

Bellatrix shot him a look of vitriol, but she nodded once and turned away. Narcissa and Andromeda followed her, their triad falling into perfect step together. Harry watched them depart, wondering if he looked even half as graceful walking next to them. Probably he looked like a newborn colt on wobbly legs.

Harry took a breath and went to face Neville. "Okay, I can explain," he said. "Um, this is just... a new look? Nothing else has changed, I promise."

Neville shrugged. "I mean, sure, Harry. I think you look great. And it's great that they're letting you hang out with them."

"I don't expect it to last."

"So long as you know that." Neville stuffed his hands into his pockets. "You know, it's just... we all _used_ to be friends. Back in primary. But they're not the same people anymore. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I won't. I know what I'm doing, Neville, really. I'm sure Bellatrix will get bored of me eventually, and then things will go back to normal."

"Back to normal," Neville repeated. "Back to being nobodies who get their lunch trays knocked out of their hands and their feet kicked out from under them."

Harry winced. "Something like that."

The first bell rang, shrill as usual. Harry felt guilt lodge itself into his throat. He wouldn't be sitting with Neville at lunch today. He wouldn't be sitting with Neville for who knew how long.

"I'll... I'll talk to you later," Harry said. The dejection in his tone was poorly disguised, he knew, but he wasn't about to lie to his best friend.

"See you later, Harry. You better go before you're late to class. First period biology is on the third floor."

They had each other's schedules memorized. The pang of regret inside of Harry grew several more notches. But if he could get any amount of popularity out of this, even just as a castoff from the Black sisters, it would help him. And that would help Neville, too. That was what he had to tell himself. 

Harry Potter didn't have to be a nobody anymore. He could be safe and _protected,_ at least while he was at school. He could have something in his life that wasn’t just about surviving. That had to be worth fighting for.

* * *

“Harry, come here.” Bellatrix snapped her fingers at him from across the aisle. “I need you to write me a note.”

“Er—” Harry glanced at the front of the room, where Slughorn was delivering a review lecture on lab safety.

“A note. _Now._ I won’t repeat myself.”

Andromeda, who was sitting next to him, elbowed his side. “Do it. Get out some paper. Slughorn won’t notice a thing.”

Reluctantly, Harry snapped open his binder and pulled out a sheet of loose leaf paper. “What do you want me to write?” he whispered.

“Piers Polkiss’ handwriting,” Bellatrix said decisively, examining her fingernails. 

Did girls actually need to do that? Look at their nails? Or was it just one of those intimidating things? Harry wasn’t sure.

Bellatrix’s head swiveled in his direction as if she had sensed his gaze on her. “Are you ready or not?”

“Yes,” Harry said quickly. He gave his pencil a wave in the air to demonstrate his eagerness.

Bellatrix’s severe glare melted into a look of satisfaction. _“Hello, beautiful,”_ she narrated. _“I’ve been watching you and thinking about us in the old days…”_

“Who is this for?”

“Did I _ask,_ Harry? Shut up and do as I say!”

Harry flinched and cast a glance at the front of the classroom. Slughorn was still lecturing, unaware of any wrongdoings going on at the back of his classroom.

Bellatrix sniffed and straightened her blazer. “As I was saying: _I was thinking about us in the old days, and I want you to come to my homecoming party next weekend. Miss you, Piers._ Add an ‘XO’ at the end.”

Harry wrote out the note as he was told, then folded it in half and handed it over. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach as the piece of paper disappeared into Bellatrix’s book bag.

“It’s just a harmless note,” muttered Andromeda. She was facing the chalkboard, pen poised in hand as she took down rapid lines of notes. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

If it was harmless and didn’t mean anything, then why did he still feel so terrible?

* * *

By lunch hour, everything was surreal again. People waved at him in the hallways. Girls asked him where he’d gotten his new clothes. Harry had never been the focus of so much _attention_ before. It felt really nice. He didn’t have to hunch his shoulders and duck his head. He could stammer his way through responses and get smiles in return.

Harry followed Bellatrix into the lunch line, and for once he did not need to keep an iron grip on his lunch tray for fear of losing it to the floor.

And so he drifted along, watching the food dropped onto his plate by the cafeteria ladies, his brain fully on autopilot. He was halfway through the process when he was alerted to a commotion behind him.

In the middle of the cafeteria, Dudley and Piers were shouting at another student. A new student, Harry noted. Dressed in... a full-length woolen coat? Alright for the autumn weather, but rather strange for the indoors.

Though Harry was a distance away, he found himself drifting closer to hear what was happening. Dudley was spitting words out—words that Harry was only too familiar with. He was used to slurs thrown his way, to being called a freak, a pansy, a fag.

Andromeda's hand caught on his elbow. "What are you doing?" she hissed. "Are you crazy? They're about to start throwing punches."

Harry shook her off. "I—" He didn't really know what he was doing. But the fight about to break out was nearing its boiling point, and Harry had to see what happened. He just... had to.

New Kid had his hands balled up into white fists, jaw ticking with restrained violence. Though his coat hid most of his body from view, he was tall. Harry hoped this bloke had a good right hook. Dudley certainly wouldn't hold back. Years on the football team, while a detriment to Dudley's grades, had done wonders for his physique. Harry knew how hard Dudley and Piers could hit—it would be awful to see this new student decked to the ground on his second day of classes.

Then it happened. Dudley stuck a hand out and _shoved,_ hard.

It was a move designed to intimidate. Harsh words and harsh actions that shattered confidence and made for easy targets. New Kid stumbled back a half step, eyes flashing, and Harry was struck by the expression on his face.

Pale skin, angular features, dark eyes and hair. But beyond that—an unsettling blankness. Harry might have described it as cold, or empty, or _numb._ That gaze was hollow, filled only with a distant irritation. Like Piers and Dudley were irksome flies that had gotten in his way.

"What are you gonna do, huh?" sneered Dudley. "Go crying to your boyfriend?"

New Kid bared his teeth in a lifeless grin that would have cowed greater men than Piers and Dudley, if they had the brain cells to experience proper fear.

Piers drew his fist back to land another hit, swung with all the force of a senior quarterback, and—

_—missed._

Harry watched, awed, as New Kid spun out of the way, caught Piers' arm, and _twisted_ it downwards with an effortless viciousness that could only come with practice. Any harder and the bone would have snapped.

It was beautiful.

From there the fight exploded. A flurry of thrown punches and kicks, attempts at headlocks, and general bullshit that Harry had seen Dudley and Piers pull on any number of freshmen throughout the past two or three years. 

Dudley and Piers had always relied on their brute strength to win fights. They did not have a speck of cunning in them, and that was made clear from how they were getting their asses kicked.

"Holy _shit,"_ said Bellatrix, who had finally deigned to turn around and take in the commotion. "Who is that kid?"

'That kid' was currently slamming his foot into Piers Polkiss' ribs.

"No idea," Harry breathed. But he wanted to find out.


	2. A Matter of When

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry averted his gaze to his locker. If he was being honest, he was only stalling. Today he'd seen Pansy Parkinson run out of gym class, crying. While he couldn't be absolutely sure about what had happened, Bellatrix's pleased smile spoke volumes. Harry could only think of all the notes he’d written over the past few days, wondering if Pansy’s misery was caused by his own hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the ever-wonderful [Dutch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsevanffs/works) for the beta on this chapter 

A week went by. Harry spent as much time as he could at school with the Black sisters. Aunt Petunia gave him a lecture on ‘using protection’ because they would not be giving him a cent if he ‘knocked some girl up’, which were quite possibly the most horrifying sentences he had ever heard leave her mouth in all sixteen years of hell he’d endured at the Dursley’s.

Dudley seemed baffled by Harry’s sudden popularity, but the monkey living in Dudley's brain did have enough intelligence to note that messing with Harry was now a bad idea. Not only that, but Harry and Dudley had come to a new agreement regarding their interactions with each other.

Even if it was only because Dudley thought Bellatrix Black was hot, Harry would take what he could get. The mundane fact of Bellatrix’s favourite perfume—Chanel Coco Mademoiselle—earned Harry a reprieve from harassment at home. Harry promised to provide more information as soon as he could get it.

Speaking of things happening at home… Harry had a brand new gym bag full of neatly-folded outfits that he did not dare show to his aunt or his uncle. Every morning, Harry woke early and changed before his relatives could see him. The last thing he wanted was to be questioned about his sudden good fortune. Dudley wouldn’t dare breathe a word of this, either, not so long as Harry was his new ‘inside source’ on the lives of the Black sisters.

But information on Bellatrix wasn’t the only currency Harry was dealing in lately. Bellatrix had him writing and forging all kinds of notes and letters. Harry grew numb to the shrill orders delivered upon him, to the various signatures of parents and faculty he was made to scrawl out during classes and lunch hour. He was used to the ear-splitting call of—

_“Haaarry!”_

Harry winced and leant back to look around the edge of his locker door. “Yes?” he asked, turning to face Narcissa.

“Bellatrix needs you to haul your ass to the cafeteria.”

Harry doubted that it was really that urgent, whatever it was. “Yeah, sure. Just a minute.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t be late. She won’t like it.”

Harry averted his gaze to his locker. If he was being honest, he was only stalling. Today he'd seen Pansy Parkinson run out of gym class, crying. While he couldn't be absolutely sure about what had happened, Bellatrix's pleased smile spoke volumes. Harry could only think of all the notes he’d written over the past few days, wondering if Pansy’s misery was caused by his own hand.

Bellatrix Black might be weaving her masterful web all over Hogwarts High, but Harry was the one producing the silken threads.

“Should have kept your head down.”

Harry nearly smacked his forehead into his locker in his haste to close it and whirl around. “I’m sorry, what?”

New Kid was standing a pace away, hands in his pockets, bland expression on his face. “You don’t need to cater to them. It makes you weak. You’re better than they are. Prove it to them.”

The conflicting statements danced around in Harry’s head. Was he being insulted? 

New Kid was already leaving, evidently finished talking now that he had said his piece.

“Hey,” Harry said, irritated, slamming his locker shut and taking a few steps forward. “You don’t get to just judge my life choices and walk away like that. I didn’t even catch your name.”

A smirk and a sideways glance over the shoulder. “I didn’t throw it.”

Harry was speechless. He watched the retreating form of the trenchcoat, frustration was burning in his chest. Not only frustration at his fixation, but frustration at himself for being drawn to it. 

Whatever. If this guy didn’t want to share his name, fine. Harry didn’t need to know it.

* * *

Despite his commitment to ignoring New Kid, Harry grumbled over their interaction all the way until his fourth period. If the Black sisters noticed he was more spaced out than usual, they said nothing.

“Harry, I was speaking with your aunt the other day—”

_What?_

“—and she invited us all over for after-school snacks! Isn’t that delightfully pedestrian?” Bellatrix beamed.

“Erm…” Both Narcissa and Andromeda were also smiling at him. Harry picked up his water bottle and drained it. Then he smacked his lips, debating how to answer. Dudley would be over the moon with this news, surely. “That’s great, Bellatrix. When—when were you talking to my aunt?”

“Oh, _Harry._ Isn’t it obvious?” Bellatrix’s smile was borderline deranged; Harry was sure that no one could possibly be that happy about speaking to Petunia Dursley. “Your aunt and my mother both attend PTA meetings on Saturdays, and so I took the liberty of asking for an introduction! My mother is in charge of those meetings, after all, and so I may need to impress upon your aunt that it will be in her best interests to allow you some more freedoms this weekend.”

The homecoming party. How could he have forgotten? Harry had dreaded asking for permission to leave the house that late at night. He had prepared a list of plausible excuses (read: lies) that would have allowed him to leave after dinner, but now he wouldn’t have to use any of them.

“Right,” Harry said breathlessly. “The party this weekend.” He had never been to any of the blowouts Piers hosted for the students in their year, and so he did not know what to expect.

“I promised Piers I would help with the snacks. That means I need you to do the heavy lifting.”

“Okay. I can do that.” Enough snacks for the students in their senior year. Well, not quite. Enough snacks for those in their senior year who were popular enough to be invited.

“Good! So this afternoon will be spent at yours, and Saturday afternoon we will come and fetch you.”

“Great,” Harry said. He was kind of looking forward to it. His first real high school party. “I’ll be ready.”

“And by the way, Harry, is Neville coming to the party?”

“Er, he wasn’t invited.” That was putting it nicely, really.

Bellatrix pursed her lips. “He is now. Make sure he knows.”

“Wow. Um, thanks! I’ll tell him.” Harry jerked his head in a nod. This was better than he could have hoped for; not only a better life for himself, but one for Neville, too.

Bellatrix gave his cheek a pat. “Good boy. Now be a dear and write me this note—”

Harry took out his notebook and hurried to comply.

* * *

After class, Bellatrix drove them all to Number 4, Privet Drive. Harry was apprehensive, but if anyone could handle his aunt, it would be Bellatrix. The car pulled into the empty lot with a squeal as Bellatrix slammed on the brakes. Harry glanced at the front windows, which displayed an empty living room. Dudley was at football practice, and Uncle Vernon was at work. 

Harry got out of the car, and Andromeda followed him. Even after spending a week sitting with her in most of his classes, Harry did not know her very well. She was rather quiet.

“I’ll get the door. Keys?” Bellatrix held out her hand.

Harry fished them out of his pocket and handed them over. Bellatrix snapped the keyring up with a violent motion that made Harry flinch back. Then Bellatrix shut the driver's side door and strode to the front of the house, her heels clicking on the pavement. Narcissa followed a half-step behind, adjusting her skirt as she went.

Before Bellatrix could even touch the doorknob, the door swung open, revealing the thin, pale face of Harry's aunt.

"Mrs. Dursley, how lovely," Bellatrix simpered.

"Welcome, girls," Aunt Petunia said, a patented hostess smile on her lips. "Why don’t you come in and set your bags down?"

“Oh, we won’t be staying for too long,” Narcissa said, “but thank you for the hospitality.”

“You see, we’re very excited for the homecoming party that Piers is throwing for all of us seniors,” Bellatrix said. “I know Dudley will be helping Piers with the preparations, Mrs. Dursley, and my sisters and I will come to fetch Harry to help us with our part! After all,” she added, pouting, “Harry has been kind enough to offer his aid with heavy lifting—only if he’s not needed here at home, of course. We wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Of course! I want you kids to have fun,” Aunt Petunia said quickly. “Senior year is very exciting…”

Harry was a bit in awe of just how Bellatrix had the situation wrapped around her finger.

“That’s settled, then! We’ll be by tomorrow afternoon.” Bellatrix flashed a brilliant smile. “Harry, you best be ready by four, alright?” She gave his arm a condescending squeeze.

“I’ll be sure to shove him out the door,” Aunt Petunia promised, levelling a stern glare in Harry’s direction. “You ladies know how boys can be.”

Harry stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and did his best to smile.

Narcissa tittered with laughter. “Mrs. Dursley, you are too funny. Thank you for being so understanding.”

Petunia’s smile went wide; Harry doubted that anyone here believed it to be genuine. “Anything for friends of Dudley and Harry.”

* * *

Saturday morning, Harry woke after a fitful six hours of on-and-off sleep. There were too many things going on in his brain. Thoughts of tonight’s party and thoughts of a certain smirk-mouthed bastard.

Ugh. Harry did the mental equivalent of slapping himself in the face. He was awake now, and he knew from past experience that there was no point in attempting to fall back asleep when he was this wound up.

Harry rolled out of bed and went to wash up for the day. On his way there, he grabbed the bottle of expensive face wash that Narcissa had given him. He didn’t recognize the brand, but it probably cost more than all of his other toiletries combined. Harry rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn. How was he supposed to have known he had dry skin? Grumbling, Harry went through his ‘new and improved’ morning routine.

Once he was done, he turned his attention to his duffle bag of clothing. This particular bag he’d made for a class project in his freshman year. It had served him well over the years, and he was admittedly attached to it. Now it was home to several hundred dollars worth of clothing.

Harry unzipped the top and peered into its depths. Regardless of what he picked, it was probably going to be the wrong choice. Bellatrix would expect him to try, though, which meant he had to make an effort.

He didn’t have much time to linger—the sisters would be here any moment now. Harry grabbed a pair of black jeans and a navy button-down shirt. After struggling into those and checking his reflection in a mirror to make sure he looked presentable, Harry snatched up his wallet and keys before rushing down the stairs.

If he was standing in the lot when Bellatrix arrived, all the better. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel a need to honk her car horn loud enough to wake the dead.

Unfortunately, Harry wound up fresh out of luck. As Bellatrix’s Porsche came into view, she blasted her horn at him. He was already standing here, facing her, waving! What more did she want from him?

“Harry, don’t you look dashing?” Bellatrix trilled at him once she was close enough to speak. “Get in.”

Harry scrambled into the backseat. “Er, thanks?”

“You’re not leaving your hair like that, are you?” Bellatrix continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Because it’s awful.”

Harry fell silent at the whiplash comment. “I can fix it,” he said slowly.

Bellatrix flashed him a grin and wiggled her fingers at him in her rearview mirror. “Beautiful, Harry. We’ll make a man out of you tonight, won’t we, girls?”

Narcissa started to laugh. A brief second after, Andromeda joined in. Harry slouched in his seat, then remembered he wasn’t allowed to do that and sat up. It was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

After making trips to no less than three different groceries stores, they ended up at a 7-11. There were less than two hours to go before the party was supposed to begin, and Harry was already exhausted. Partly because he’d been made to carry everything, but also because being around Bellatrix was like standing on the outskirts of a hurricane—there was the constant, niggling fear that utter disaster was imminent if he set a toe out of line.

As Bellatrix pulled into the 7-11 parking lot, Harry wondered what on earth they still needed for the party. The entire trunk was stuffed with pop cans and bags of chips. His mouth was painfully dry and he hadn’t eaten anything all day. Which was definitely unhealthy, even if it didn’t seem to bother any of the girls.

The car jerked to a halt, but Bellatrix did not turn the engine off. Instead, she turned her gaze to the rearview mirror—to Harry. “Corn nuts,” she said briskly. “Three bags, barbeque.”

Andromeda opened her wallet and handed him a few bills. Resigned, Harry opened the door and got out. At least while he was inside the 7-11 he could have a few minutes to himself.

“Can’t have a party without corn nuts!” Narcissa trilled after him as he made his escape.

Harry shoved his way into the store. Fluorescent lights and convenience products aplenty. Quickly, then, he located the section for salty snacks and began pawing through the selection for corn nuts. Barbeque, barbeque. It took him a few moments of rooting around, but eventually he uncovered some stragglers hiding behind a dozen bags of the original flavour. Harry yanked them out and kept a tight grip on them. 

Then he stood up and was promptly overwhelmed by a mild dizzy spell. Harry steadied himself, using the shelf for balance. Fucking hell. Maybe he ought to get something to drink before he wiped out on the linoleum floor like a moron.

Harry swung around, blinking owlishly, and located the corner of the 7-11 that housed the drink machines. He needed something with a good amount of caffeine. Maybe mountain dew. That was the type of sugary monstrosity he ought to consume before he went back into battle. Harry walked over to where the cups and lids were kept, and was halfway reaching for a medium-sized paper cup when an all-too-familiar voice interrupted him.

“Care for a Slurpee with that?”

Harry assumed ‘that’ was referring to the copious amounts of corn nuts clutched awkwardly in his right hand. Slowly, he turned around. “No, but if you want, you can pay for my mountain dew.”

Harry’s sarcasm was welcomed by a derisive scoff. New Kid raised a brow at him in an expression of mild amusement. “Toxic waste that will kill you sooner than those girls you call your friends will. Now, was that cherry or lime I heard?”

“Neither.” Harry swung back to the cup dispenser, intent on ignoring New Kid, and shuffled over to the appropriate drink nozzle.

Before he could twist the handle, however, a hand bumped his out of the way. “Tom Riddle.”

It was like an electric shock. Harry nearly dropped his cup as he stumbled back half a step. “Excuse me?” Harry said, annoyed.

“I am ending the suspense.” Tom smiled blandly and stuck his hand out. “My name is Tom Riddle.”

Reluctantly, Harry shook hands. Tom’s hand was cold to the touch, probably because of the Slurpee he was holding, and his grip lingered longer than Harry would have liked. But the shake was firm and perfunctory in all other aspects, even if Harry felt a tad apprehensive. Was it his rampant imagination at play, or did Tom’s disinterested gaze hold a hint of intrigue?

“That fight last week sure was something,” Harry said as he reached for his Big Gulp cup. The incident continued to occupy his mind on a regular basis, and now that Tom was here, Harry found he was unable to hold back his curiosity.

“The extreme tends to make an impression.” Tom’s grin widened into something that Harry could only describe as sharklike. The implication was not lost on Harry; Tom was no stranger to violence. If anything, this implied that he _enjoyed_ it. Not to mention that this was the most emotion from Tom that Harry had witnessed since that fateful afternoon in the cafeteria. 

It ought to have put him off Tom for good—Harry’d had enough violence in his life to be sick of it—but Tom fascinated him. He could not help but be taken in by the aura of detachment that Tom exuded. What was it like not to care for consequences? To flip the switch of apathy and take down bullies twice his size like it was nothing?

“So what brought you to town?” Harry asked, fiddling with the rim of his paper cup. “We don’t get many new students around here,” he clarified.

The amusement from before wiped itself off of Tom’s face. “My father works in deconstruction.” Tom shrugged. “He’s taken on some large projects here. Once the check is cashed, we’ll be on our way.” 

The callous delivery was unsettling, but Harry was determined to plow on nevertheless and keep the conversation alive. “You move around a lot,” Harry said, then winced. Great job. He was digging the knife in and giving it a twist. “That really sucks.”

Tom didn’t seem to mind; he raised his cup in a mockery of a toast. “And so you see why _popularity_ doesn’t matter much to me. Soon I will be nothing but a distant memory in the rearview mirror of your boring suburban lives. You’ll go on to some second-tier college and forget you ever met me.”

Harry had lived in this dumpy town his whole life. All he ever dreamed of was leaving—this dream was what kept him going whenever his life got unbearably awful. It was difficult for him to empathize with Tom’s sentiments.

“Uneventful can be a blessing, too,” Harry argued. He lifted his handful of corn nuts and gave them a shake. “Sometimes you have to live for the little things.”

Tom eyed the snacks with nothing less than disdain. Whatever he was about to say, however, was interrupted by the obnoxious blare of Bellatrix’s car horn.

An ear-splitting shriek of _“HARRY!!”_ grated on their ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Example number one of why eventful isn’t always better,” Harry said, gesturing grandly to the exit.

Tom looked at the Porsche parked outside of the shop. When he looked back at Harry, his gaze was darker than before. “Then leave the party. Stay here.”

“Here?” Harry raised his brows before he could help himself. “You can’t just say that after you’ve shat on my snack choices.”

“There’s plenty to like here,” Tom responded flatly. He nudged Harry aside and began to fill a new paper cup full of cherry-lime slush. “Tell me you’ll have more fun with them, and I’ll leave it be. But you hardly need to look deep inside yourself to find that I’m right.”

The sad part was, Tom was probably right. Harry had no idea what to do with himself at a party; he had never been to one before, and he suspected that most of the evening would involve him carrying the Black sisters’ things for them.

If not for the fact that he’d promised Neville he’d be there, Harry might have agreed to stay. _Might_ have. He wasn’t entirely smitten with Tom’s ‘cool guy’ attitude. But Tom was nice enough, and had offered to buy him a drink. Harry could afford to give a little.

“I think you’d have to sell me a little more on the qualities of a 7-11 first,” Harry said dryly.

Tom placed the lid on top of his cup, pressing down around the edges to secure it in place. “The appeal is different for everyone,” Tom allowed, “but if you prefer the mundane as you say, you must admit there’s something satisfying about the consistent layout. Same storefront, same aisles.” He paused and lifted a sardonic brow. “Same snacks.”

Harry snorted, which was likely the response Tom had wanted. “Alright, I can agree that there _is_ something nice about knowing I can get a pack of spearmint gum whenever I visit.”

“I’ve been to ten schools over the course of my illustrious high school education,” Tom said. “Every 7-11 is the same, coast to coast, in most cases down to the tiling.” He gave his foot a deliberate tap on the floor, drawing Harry’s attention to his nondescript black leather boots. “Wanderlust loses its appeal when you never stay anywhere for more than a few weeks. You learn you’re better off not setting roots down.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through that,” Harry said. He hadn’t thought of it that way—never having any friends. At least Harry had Neville as a friend.

Tom rolled his shoulders with a casual, artful motion and slid the newly-filled Slurpee over to Harry before picking up his own. “I don’t mind it anymore. Brain freeze helps to chase those thoughts away. Better than tossing myself off the nearest pier, at any rate.”

Now _that_ was a level of morbid that Harry wasn’t sure what to do with. No doubt he sometimes had such thoughts himself, but it was different to hear them spoken aloud in such a careless way. For Harry, those thoughts were restricted to the darkness of the cupboard under the stairs, to the quiet of his room at four in the morning when everyone else was asleep. To those brief moments where his vision swam in and out and he worried his ribs would crack under the weight of Dudley’s foot.

Harry watched as Tom took a long pull of his drink. “That stuff’ll give you cavities, though,” Harry said, an attempt to return some levity to the conversation. “What’s your mum got to say about that?”

Tom smacked his lips. “My mum, as you put it, is dead.”

Ah, shit. Harry coughed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t have anything to do with it, and I can take care of myself.” Tom picked up the second Slurpee cup, rotating it in his hand and eyeing the reflection of fluorescent lights that clung to the clear plastic dome. Then he held it out to Harry. “Here, try it.”

Harry was hard pressed to refuse after sticking his foot in his mouth not ten seconds ago. He accepted the cup and took a sip. Cold slush rushed into his mouth, a burst of cold and too-sweet flavour. Cherry, lime, and cola if he wasn’t mistaken. It didn’t taste bad; it was like having pop but in an icy format.

“I don’t see what the—” Harry broke off as something stabbed at his head, a dull throb of pain that could only be brain freeze. “What the fuck? Ow.” He set his cup down so he could rub at his temples. _“Fucker.”_

Tom smothered an amused smile behind his own cup. It was, dare Harry think the words, unfairly cute. 

At the front of the shop, the door opened with a loud noise, the bell above ringing out with the usual unpleasant chime that signalled customers entering the shop. 

“Harry! What is taking you so long?” Bellatrix snapped out. _“Corn nuts?”_

Embarrassed, Harry held out the bags he still had clutched in his free hand. “I just need to pay,” he said weakly.

Bellatrix slid her disapproving gaze from Harry to Tom. Her lips spread into a large, fake smile. “Then say farewell to the _edge lord_ here and get moving, Harry.”

Harry raised one awkward, snack-bag filled hand in Tom’s direction and grimaced. “See you.”

Tom’s expression did nothing to mask what he thought of the situation—namely, that he thought Harry was being an idiot—and Harry had to agree it was a fair assessment. Bellatrix was treating him like her lapdog. It was humiliating, in a way, but it was better than being bullied.

Besides, Harry reminded himself, this would only last for the rest of the school year. He had put up with worse before at home. This was nothing compared to that. He was getting something out of all this. Protection from Dudley at home and at school. Harry didn’t have to like Bellatrix to take advantage of that.

Harry paid for the three bags of barbecue corn nuts and the Slurpee that Tom had poured out for him. He did not look over his shoulder as he left, but he could feel Tom’s eyes following him to the door. 

Part of Harry hoped that Tom might make an appearance at the party, but given Tom’s opinion of the Black sisters, it seemed unlikely. Still, Harry could hope. A little hope never hurt anyone.

* * *

Narcissa had the car door open for him as he exited the 7-11. Harry swallowed around the nervousness in his throat and slid into his spot next to Andromeda, hating how his jeans stuck to the plastic seating.

“Got a boner for the new kid, Harry?” Narcissa asked, eyeing him.

Harry spluttered, nearly spilling his Slurpee on himself in the process of fumbling with his seatbelt. Narcissa dropped her judgemental gaze to his drink, then slowly lifted her eyes back to his face.

“No,” Harry said. “I’ve only just learned his name now.”

“You know what  _ I _ heard?” Bellatrix said loudly as she revved the engine, twisting her torso so she could back up the car. “He and his father have taken up in the large manor up the hill. The one that  _ some _ people used to say was haunted.” Her smile twisted, adopting an ugly edge. “Do you remember, ‘Cissa? How silly we all were, thinking such a thing.”

Narcissa sniffed and fell silent, turning to face the window.

“The Gaunt house?” Andromeda commented, frowning. “That lot’s been empty for ages.”

Back when they’d been kids, they had dared each other to try and sneak past the gates. Everyone had believed the house was haunted, and maybe people still thought that, honestly. The entire area was downright creepy. It gave Harry the chills, too, but he had taken advantage of the manor’s reputation. Dudley and his brutish friends had a healthy fear of the supernatural, which made the house the perfect place for Harry’s escape.

Harry knew where the fence was rusted and broken. He’d hidden in the yard a few times, surrounded by brambles and overgrown bushes. The discomfort of minor cuts from the thorns was nothing compared to the immense satisfaction he’d felt at successfully evading a beating.

The rest of the car ride was filled with idle gossip that Harry did his best to tune out. Instead, he fixed his attention on the streets around them—streets that led to one place that Harry had never expected to be welcome. Piers was Dudley’s friend; the last time Harry had visited this neighbourhood must have been in kindergarten, before such things as grudges and bullying existed. Even now, the neighbourhood’s neatly-trimmed hedges were enough to send Harry’s stomach hurtling into anxiety-induced upset.

“That’s going to melt if you don’t finish it.”

Harry jolted back to awareness. Andromeda was looking at him. “Oops,” he said. He raised the straw to his lips and took a slow sip, mindful of the shocking cold from earlier.

Andromeda’s sisters were both seemingly occupied—Bellatrix with driving and chatting, and Narcissa with her phone screen. It struck Harry just how different the three of them were, not only in personality, but in appearance. Bellatrix with her jet-black hair, Narcissa with a blonde-brown mix, and Andromeda’s dark reddish-brown that gleamed amber in the sunlight.

“Skittish little thing, aren’t you?” asked Andromeda.

Harry took his time in smacking his lips and lowering his cup. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

Her eyes narrowed. From this distance, Harry could make out each of her mascara-coated eyelashes in great detail. “You hate it when Bella honks the car horn. You flinch when she snaps at you. You stand with your back to the wall.”

A sick feeling washed over him, dread crushing down on his chest like a lead weight. Harry ignored it as best he could and took a shaky sip of his drink, hoping that the brain freeze Tom had spoken of would help him out. “I don’t know what you mean,” he repeated, dragging the words out.

“If you say so.” Andromeda sat back, her expression once again impassive. “We’re almost there.”

Harry shrank down in his seat, his clammy hands clasped tight around his condensation-covered Slurpee cup, and counted the seconds until he could get out of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been threatened not to give this story a sad ending mwahahaha. we'll see how i feel when i get there. in the meantime, all my love to everyone 


	3. Pay the Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You knew what you signed up for when you agreed to let me help you," Bellatrix said, jabbing her finger at him. "Don't play so innocent now. This is the price you pay if you want to sit with the big girls. There are no refunds, no exchanges, no take backs. If you're having second thoughts, Harry, you best keep those to yourself." She stepped closer, close enough that Harry could witness the utter lack of compassion in her eyes. "Because I don't do second chances."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the ever-wonderful [Dutch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsevanffs/works) for the beta on this chapter 
> 
> also
> 
> !!! **IMPORTANT** !!! **IMPORTANT** !!! **IMPORTANT** !!!
> 
> i have edited the previous chapter. some very tiny changes throughout, and then an **additional scene** the very end which should be read for context's sake!!

Events leading up to the party were awkward at best and absolutely terrible at worst. Even Bellatrix’s exemplary people skills were not enough to bridge the chasm of utter dislike that existed between Harry and Dudley. Harry was used to ducking his head and dodging blows, and Dudley was used to having free rein when it came to beating Harry up.

It was unclear how far Dudley would go while Bellatrix was watching them, and so Harry decided to avoid his cousin entirely. He carried everything the girls had purchased into the house without so much as a word to either Dudley or Piers, and once that was done, he stuck close to Andromeda. She was the nicest to him out of the three sisters, and was likely the only person in this house who he didn’t mind talking to, even if she had made him a bit uncomfortable earlier.

"You’ve never been to one of these," Andromeda stated as he approached her.

Harry checked the clock on the wall. "Never had a reason to."

"They can be fun," Andromeda allowed. "Stick to groups of people you know well, stick to dancing." She slouched against the wall and gestured to the party table. "Have a drink or two to shed those pesky inhibitions, then ditch your party cup for the night. Water is your new best friend."

"The wise words of an experienced woman," Harry said dryly.

Andromeda laughed. It was a pretty laugh, natural compared to the high-pitched titters that Harry heard whenever Bellatrix made a joke at someone else’s expense. Andromeda shifted towards him and gave his shoulder a pat. "You’re a sweet guy, Harry."

Harry could feel the warmth of her hand like an imprint on his skin. He blamed it on the fact that people didn’t touch him very often; something as innocuous as a pat was bound to set off alarm bells in his head. "Er—"

She rolled her eyes. "I’m not hitting on you. There wouldn’t be any point in it."

"Alright." Harry shuffled his feet on the floor. "I mean. I do like girls, too."

"But you’ve got your eye on that new kid, and that’s fine." Andromeda’s lips quirked into a lopsided smirk. "Not to my taste, personally, but I can see why tall, dark, and handsome has its appeal."

Harry threw her a flat stare. "Is that all anyone cares about? Dating and—and sex?"

Andromeda’s mischievous gaze softened. "Not for everyone, no. But like I said, Harry, you’re a sweet guy. If there’s someone out there who can make you happy, I wish you the best of luck with it."

A mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty bubbled up in him. "Sure, thanks," Harry said. Then he tried to stuff his hands into the pockets of his jeans, only his jeans were too tight. He could barely get the first two joints of his fingers in. "Um, I’ll go see if Bellatrix needs help with anything else."

Harry slid his hands into his jacket pockets and walked away, leaving Andromeda alone. Hopefully, the party would start soon. Then he could forget about the stress of today and watch everyone else have their fun.

* * *

The music was blaring so loudly that it was impossible to hear anything. Not many people were here yet. Harry was getting hungry, only Dudley and Piers had been hovering around the snack table all afternoon. Maybe they would leave soon so he could sneak over and grab some chips to eat.

"Harry?"

Harry swung around. The sight of Neville in baggy jeans and a plain grey hoodie made Harry feel overly-dressed. He had allowed Narcissa to have another go at his hair—it was now held in place with copious amounts of hair gel. Harry could admit it looked nice, even if his entire head felt stiff as a board.

"Hey, Neville," greeted Harry. "I wasn’t sure if you were going to come." This homecoming party was essentially everything that Neville’s gran hated rolled up into one wild event. Ear-splitting music blasting from the speakers, approximately three dozen unsupervised minors, and lots of illegal substance consumption.

Neville grimaced and gave the living room a cursory glance. "Small price to pay to be able to eat lunch without Dudley and Piers breathing down my neck." 

"I’ll drink to that," Harry joked. Secretly, he was glad that Neville was here. Even with his new clothes and new ‘friends’, Harry didn’t feel like he fit in. Neville was still his best friend; just knowing Neville was here helped him feel more comfortable. "But you’ll see what I mean about popularity, Neville. I promise. Once people see that you’re, you know, part of the cool crowd, they’ll leave you alone." 

Neville nodded once, then glanced at his shoes. "Yeah. Lunch has been kind of a bummer lately."

"I’m really sorry," Harry said. "I wish I could—"

"I know, I know." Neville smiled slightly. "I already said I don’t blame you or anything. You’re doing what’s better for you. And Dudley doesn’t bother me anymore, so it’s great."

Now Harry felt shitty. He had been eating lunch with the Black sisters, of course, which meant that Neville was alone—and therefore more of a target. Harry had gotten Dudley to back off, but Dudley was not the only bully in the school.

"But hey," Neville added, "tonight will change things, right? Like you said."

"Yeah," Harry said eagerly. He reached out to give Neville’s forearm a friendly punch. "We’ll stick together tonight, just like usual."

"Just like usual," Neville repeated with a grin. "Sounds fantastic."

The enthusiasm in Neville’s voice came as a relief. Harry really wanted this to go well for Neville. If his popularity could rub off onto Neville, then there was hope for a better life at school. After all, if Harry could suddenly become popular, then couldn’t it happen to anyone? If Bellatrix was as powerful as she liked to boast she was, then maybe it was only a matter of convincing her to do away with the old system of gossip-y cliques and stuffing freshmen into lockers.

The first step of that plan would be for him and Neville to hang out for the whole party. That way whenever anyone came to talk to Harry, Neville would be there in the peripheral. Neither Dudley nor Piers would be able to come bother Neville while Harry was around, which made it the perfect situation for Neville to get used to socializing. 

Given that Neville was now here, Harry supposed that the party was about to start very soon—Neville was not the type to be late. If all went well, tonight would be the best homecoming party since Harry had started high school.

* * *

Slowly, the house filled up. Harry recognized everyone who came through the door; most of these people were kids he’d known since kindergarten. Some of them waved at him as they came in, and Harry wondered if the strangeness of being _acknowledged_ would ever wear off. He was used to blending in, to hiding in the hallways by the open doors of classrooms with teachers in them. Being the center of attention was thrilling, but it was also terrifying.

"Hey! Didn’t expect to see you both here. Harry, Neville." Ted Tonks was walking towards them.

Harry envied Ted, who had good grades and was friendly with almost everyone. Ted was captain of the chess club and worked part-time at the bookshop in the mall. He was not popular, but he was not unliked, either. 

"I didn’t expect to be here," Neville replied, "so that makes two of us."

Ted laughed warmly and gave Neville a nudge with his elbow. "You’re a fun one, Neville. I’m glad you’re here."

"There’s snacks and drinks and things over by the far wall," Harry offered. "Feel free to help yourself."

"I might do that. God knows it’ll vanish into the gullets of our esteemed football team if we leave it unattended. I’d hate to starve before the party really gets underway." Ted winked and wandered off.

"Ted’s always nice," Neville commented.

"Oh, are we gossiping?" Narcissa stepped over, canting her head to the side and holding her hand up to her ear. Upon seeing their bemused expressions, she lowered her hand with a snicker. "You know _I_ heard that Ted Tonks broke Pansy’s heart last week."

Harry felt guilty as he recalled Pansy’s tearful face during gym class. He’d convinced himself that it wasn’t his fault, but now he was less than certain.

"A sad week for poor Pansy," Narcissa said softly. "But she’s coming to the party tonight! So we’ll have to show her a good time, won’t we boys?"

"Sure," Harry agreed.

Narcissa smiled sweetly. "Wonderful. Have either of you had a drink yet?"

"I don’t drink," Neville said politely. "But thank you."

Narcissa’s smile held strong. She lifted a hand and placed it delicately onto Neville’s shoulder. "Nonsense. I’ll mix something up that you’ll enjoy, _Neville."_

Harry took a breath. "I’ll have something to drink, Narcissa. I don’t mind."

"That’s the spirit! I promise you’ll like it." Narcissa took Harry by the arm and dragged him towards the table. Neville followed them at a sedate pace, hands stuffed into the front pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Salt, then shot, then lime," Narcissa instructed as she poured out two glasses of tequila. They watched as she licked the back of her hand and sprinkled salt onto it. Then she licked the salt up, threw back the first shot, and finished it off with a bite of lime. "See? Easy!"

"I’m good, thanks," Neville repeated as Narcissa held a shot glass and a salt shaker out to him.

"More for the rest of us, then." Narcissa turned her attention to Harry. "Harry, darling, now this one’s yours."

It was just one shot. If they were going to fit in, then he had to make an effort. Harry took the shot glass and copied what Narcissa had done. The alcohol did not taste particularly good, but the salt and lime helped chase the flavour down. Harry swallowed and tried not to cough, wishing he’d eaten more before the party had started. The only thing he’d had since lunch was the Slurpee that Tom had gotten for him.

"Lovely," Narcissa said proudly. "You’re going to be a natural. I think I’ll leave you both to it!"

Once she was out of earshot, Harry coughed to clear his throat. Did she mean that they ought to stay here and serve drinks? 

"You alright?" Neville asked worriedly. "You didn’t have to do that, you know."

"I know. I wanted to." Harry rubbed the damp backside of his hand on his jeans. "I’m going to get some chips to eat."

"Food will help," Neville agreed. "But seriously, don’t feel like you have to do anything for me. I don’t mind if people think I’m a downer."

"Everything is great," Harry promised. "Tonight’s going to be great. Maybe it’s not like movie night at your gran’s, but we can still have fun." He snatched up a paper plate and filled it with salt and vinegar chips. Not the most nutritious dinner, but better than what he got some nights at the Dursleys.

Across the room, Piers and Dudley were shouting and mock-wrestling with a large, pink, pig-shaped piñata while the Black sisters watched. Harry crammed a handful of chips into his mouth and started chewing.

"I can hardly hear myself think over all the music," Neville said. "How do people go to parties like this all the time?"

"No idea." Maybe tonight they would find out.

* * *

As the night wore on, the house grew more crowded. Everyone was having a good time, singing and dancing and laughing. The loud music was pounding in Harry’s eardrums, urging him to sway in time to the beat. Though he was mostly observing the crowd, he was having a nice time. Harry was even tempted to have another drink just to see how it felt. 

Neville was by the punch bowl and talking to Pansy. Harry didn't think that Narcissa wanted him and Neville to play bartender, but Neville felt better with a task to do, so Harry let it happen. Maybe if Harry was feeling more confident later, he would drag Neville into some dancing.

Harry was once again considering the tequila when Bellatrix came over to him. Her lipstick was fixed in place, hardly smudged despite the number of drinks he'd watched her throw back. Bellatrix held her liquor better than Dudley did, which was impressive given the size difference between the two of them.

"Enjoying yourself, Harry?" Something about her voice never failed to make his skin itch and crawl, like someone had poured ants over him.

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's a good time."

"And your little friend? Neville? Is he having fun?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for inviting him." Then, because he couldn't help himself, he looked towards the punch bowl.

Bellatrix followed the direction of his gaze. When her eyes landed on Neville and Pansy, her mouth curled into a smile. "How cute. I wasn't sure if she'd show, if I'm being honest. She was so _devastated_ after Ted turned her down." It took a second for the meaning to register—that Bellatrix was talking about Pansy. Then Bellatrix laid a delicate hand on Harry's arm, trailing it up and across until she had two fingers pressed under his chin, tilting his head back. "But lo and behold, Pansy found the _sweetest_ note in her locker the other day!"

This was a confirmation of Harry's worst fear. Until this moment, he had convinced himself that no harm had been caused, that his forgeries were just firewood for the pyre of idle gossip. But now he was faced with the consequences of his decisions—the consequences of his _popularity._ It was a bitter pill to swallow, and worse still to do so in front of Bellatrix, who Harry did not doubt was enjoying herself.

"Nothing to say?" Bellatrix asked kindly. "Shall I call Piers over to say hello?"

"No," Harry bit out. "You shouldn't! What did Pansy ever do to you?"

"I needed her out of the way. This was simply the best way to achieve that goal. The sooner she realizes that no one will ever want her, the sooner we can _all_ move on with our lives." Bellatrix's smug smile sent a wave of revulsion rippling through him. Harry was disgusted with her, and with himself for going along with all of this.

"Have you ever, I don't know, considered _talking_ to people when you have an issue with them?"

"Why bother with that? Haven't I just told you I have things in hand?" Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at him and dropped her hand from his face. "And here I thought you'd be happy to hear I'm putting your creative talents to good use."

Harry's contempt was boiling over into resentment and outrage. His jaw ticked with annoyance. Bellatrix had manipulated him just like she had with Pansy. With everyone. "Not like that. Forging a hall pass isn't the same as _this._ She's already miserable, Bellatrix. Why do you have to make her feel worse?"

"You _knew_ what you signed up for when you agreed to let me help you," Bellatrix said, jabbing her finger at him. "Don't play so innocent now. This is the price you pay if you want to sit with the big girls. There are no refunds, no exchanges, no take backs. If you're having second thoughts, Harry, you best keep those to yourself." She stepped closer, close enough that Harry could witness the utter lack of compassion in her eyes. "Because I don't _do_ second chances."

Harry was prepared to protest—surely someone as smart as Bellatrix could see reason if it was pointed out to her—but then her hand made contact with his chest and shoved him backwards. He stumbled back half a step to catch his balance and collided awkwardly with the table behind him.

"Would you like to go back to being Pansy? A pathetic loser with nothing to hope for aside from having your head stuffed into a toilet?" Bellatrix snorted, her hands crossed over her chest as she sneered at him. "Don't make me laugh. You're living the dream because I _allow_ it. Because you are useful to me. And I've been generous, haven't I? I've paid for your clothes, I've let your little friend join the fun." Her hand closed in again, her sharp nails stabbing into his shoulder. "Anyone else would _kill_ to be in your shoes," she hissed. "Do not fuck it up over a guilty conscience."

Harry swallowed around the dryness in his mouth. Just behind Bellatrix, Neville was still chatting with Pansy. Neville looked _happy_ despite the alien setting of the homecoming party, and that was because of what Harry had done. Neville was only here because Harry had dug himself into debt with Bellatrix Black.

"A word of advice? Drown out whatever voice is bitching and moaning by having another drink." She stepped back, releasing him. Her voice was light and airy as she poured a shot out. "You've come this far, Harry. Continue to be a good boy, and you'll turn out just fine. I'll even see about helping you with psycho trench coat kid, if that's what you want." Her finger tapped the rim in a teasing manner before she lifted it in his direction.

When Harry failed to move, she raised her brows at him. "You live in my world, you live by my rules. Do not test me, or you will regret it, just like lovely Pansy." Bellatrix smiled, equal parts sinister and cheerful. _"Drink,"_ she added, lowering her voice to a croon. "You'll feel better, I promise."

Harry drew the comparison from one drink to the other—Tom's frozen, sugary concoction versus the harsh, unforgiving taste of Bellatrix’s tequila. Two different methods of coping. Harry knew that people drank to numb themselves, to forget the things that hurt. Alcohol possessed the same power as brain freeze, only it was more potent, more dangerous. The appeal was there, as was the desire for all his worries to melt away.

Suddenly, Harry understood why Tom chose to spend his pocket money downing liquid sugar in a slush format. Anything had to be better than _thinking_ all the time. All the stress and worry of navigating what should have been a fun final year of high school. All the hard choices he had to make in order to survive.

Harry took the shot in hand and downed it, spluttering around the flavour. Without the salt and lime to soften it, it was awful. And to think he had promised Neville not to do anything stupid. Well, first time for everything. Or was this now the second time?

"Excellent," Bellatrix praised. "Now—"

_"Bellaaa!"_ exclaimed Narcissa. She stepped towards them, smiling all the while. One of her hands was occupied with a drink, but the other was waving back and forth in an excited manner. "Bella, Bella, Bella! I was just talking to Piers. You won't believe what he said to me. He's _so_ funny. And hot."

Narcissa's ankles wobbled in their heels as she bumped into Bellatrix, but she remained upright by clinging to her sister. "I think he was hitting on me," she said in a whisper that wasn't really a whisper at all, much to Harry's second-hand embarrassment.

Bellatrix's expression was full of disinterest. But Narcissa only giggled, the sound bubbly and wild. She squinted at Harry, then gave her sister's arm a tug and added, "Is it time for the piñata yet? Where's Lardbottom?"

"Shut _up,_ Narcissa." Bellatrix peeled Narcissa's hands off her arm with a disgusted sound. "I do so much for you ungrateful bitches, the _least_ you could do is shut up." To Narcissa's wounded look, she added, "Why don't you make yourself useful and go fetch him for me. Here—" Bellatrix produced a strip of pink cloth from her pocket and dangled it in the air. "Use this."

"Use that for what?" Harry asked warily as Narcissa walked off, mumbling to herself.

"Dear _Neville_ has the honour of breaking open the piñata!" Bellatrix declared cheerfully. Her eyes shone even in the dim party lighting.

Harry was made more confused by her response, and this must have shown on his face because Bellatrix pouted at him, the fullness of her lower lip jutting out in an obscene manner.

"Isn't this what you wanted, Harry?" she asked in a honeyed tone. "For your friend to be popular?"

"I—" Harry didn't know what to do. The loud music combined with his stomach half-full of junk food and alcohol was not a great mix for making intelligent choices. He was having doubts about Bellatrix’s intentions. He was having doubts about everything. "I'm going to go and talk to Neville."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: dead man walking 😏


	4. Dead Man Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Listen up everyone!" Bellatrix called out. "It's time to celebrate our upcoming victory by whacking apart Durmstrang's mascot!" She beamed at them all, then clasped her hands together. "We already have our first volunteer... let's show _Neville Longbottom_ some Hogwarts spirit!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hah i made it before 2020 ended here. not what i expected to update but it has happened nonetheless.

"Hey," Harry said awkwardly as he approached Neville and Narcissa. 

“Hi, Harry,” greeted Neville. He was holding what Harry assumed to be a paper cup of water.

“Narcissa told you about the piñata?”

“Yeah!” Neville answered. “Something about how it’s a homecoming party tradition?” Not that either of them knew much about those. 

Harry glanced at Narcissa, trying to get a read on the tone of the conversation. In the gloomy party lighting, it was hard to make out the details of her expression. Was she as into this whole thing as Bellatrix was? How to make her leave so he could talk to Neville?

"Absolutely. It is going to be  _ so much _ fun," Narcissa said happily, clapping her hands together. "Everyone is so excited, and Neville's agreed to take the first swing!"

“Great,” Harry said, full of fake enthusiasm. "Why don't I take the blindfold? You can go help your sister, um, set the piñata up."

"Well, okay." Narcissa frowned. "Don't tell her I gave it to you or she'll think I'm being lazy again."

"I won't," Harry promised.

Narcissa pressed the pink sash into his hands, then planted a sticky lip-gloss kiss on his left cheek. "Andy's right. You are a sweet boy, Harry." She gave a little laugh, then sauntered off.

Harry’s face heated with embarrassment, but he forced himself to turn back to Neville. "You don't have to do this."

"I know." Neville smiled ruefully. "But I want to. Besides, isn't that why I'm here? To become 'popular'?"

"I guess." Harry couldn't shake the voice in his head—Bellatrix's voice warning him about having second thoughts.

"Tonight's been really nice. Nicer than I was expecting, honestly," Neville said. "I'm glad I decided to come."

In the background, the volume of the music lowered to a bearable level. A few party goers began to groan, but their complaints were quickly quieted as Bellatrix took center stage.

"Listen up everyone!" Bellatrix called out. "It's time to celebrate our upcoming victory by whacking apart Durmstrang's mascot!" She beamed at them all, then clasped her hands together. "We already have our first volunteer... let's show Neville Longbottom some Hogwarts spirit!"

The crowd let out a confused cheer in response to Bellatrix's enthusiasm.

"Come on!" Bellatrix cried, pumping her fist in the air.  _ "Neville! _ Neville!  _ Neville!" _

The crowd took up the chant with all the rabid enthusiasm that dozens of drunken teenagers could muster. Bellatrix allowed a pleased smile to stretch across her face as she made eye contact with Harry from across the room. That smile did nothing to alleviate the anxious churning in Harry's stomach.

"That's my cue, I suppose," Neville said nervously. "Would you mind putting the blindfold on me?"

Reluctantly, Harry tied the blindfold around Neville's eyes. Then Andromeda came over and took Neville by the shoulders, steering him towards the space that Bellatrix had cleared in the middle of the room.

"It'll be over soon," Andromeda said. She was looking at the wall as she spoke. Harry's unease doubled.

Narcissa re-entered the room, her arms wrapped around the large midsection of the pig piñata. It was a wonder she was able to carry it on her own at all, what with the way she was stumbling. After some struggle, she managed to pivot her body so that the pig was balanced on her hip, and that was when Harry saw the sheet of paper taped to the side.

"No!" Harry said aloud. But no one could hear him, not when all eyes were focused on the prize—the piñata with  _ Neville's name _ stuck to it. There was even a sloppy yarn wig taped to the top of its head.

People were laughing and cheering loudly now, the rhythm of their chanting rising to fill the entire room. Bellatrix was drinking in the atmosphere, her eyes travelling lazily over the crowd. Then she caught Harry's gaze for the second time and paused. Her grinned sharpened wickedly. She was enjoying Harry’s misery the same way she enjoyed everyone's misery. Even the misery of her own sisters.

The awful enormity of the situation was rapidly dawning on Harry. Bellatrix did not care for anyone. All she cared for was her own power, a power she used to make everyone around her absolutely miserable.

So long as Harry was useful to her, he was safe from the humiliation and punishment delivered by  _ others. _ There was nothing he could do to protect himself from Bellatrix. Bellatrix had been very clear that while he lived under her protection, he also lived under her rule—and all of the conditions that came with that. He had been an idiot to think for even a second that he was better off than before. All he had done was trade one prison for another.

The crowd was now starting a new chant, urged on by Bellatrix and Narcissa. "Neville is our king!  _ Neville is our king! _ He will not miss a single swing! Neville is our king!"

Harry couldn't stand it anymore. He had to do something. With panicked, jerky motions, Harry shoved his way through the crowd, pushing and knocking people out of his way. In the center of the room, Narcissa was attempting to hoist the piñata up on her own. Everyone nearby seemed content to watch her struggle, and some of them were even giggling at her.

"Let me help you," Harry heard himself say, the words rushed and out of breath.

Narcissa stared at him with wide eyes, shocked by his request. Clearly, she had not expected Harry to offer aid. Or, Harry thought distantly, maybe Narcissa was unused to anyone offering to help her in the first place.

But there was no time to think about that. Neville was his friend. Harry had to seize the moment and take advantage of her distraction. He snatched up the piñata with both hands and yanked it away from her. Narcissa did not move, did not even scream. She merely stood there, open-mouthed, and watched as he stumbled off like the drunken idiot he was.

Harry ran headlong into the crowd, charging at full speed, the pig held out in front of him like a battering ram. He crashed into a lot of people, most of them confused and definitely not sober. Harry's head was pounding horribly, and his glasses were knocked askew as someone's arm mashed into his face by mistake.

"Harry! Get  _ back _ here!" That was Bellatrix shrieking his name.

Harry kept going, kept his legs moving as he ran out of the house and into the backyard. His vision was blurry, but in front of him was the swimming pool, large and impossible to miss. The pool was empty of people since everyone had gone inside to witness the smashing of the piñata.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Harry, give that to me!"

Harry swung around, gazed upon the vengeful shape of Bellatrix Black. Even with his poor eyesight, he could tell that she was furious. His body was shaking with adrenaline—his throbbing head and pounding heart working in synchrony, making him feel sick inside and out. The only way to get rid of the sickness was to right the wrongs he'd caused. The only way out was to get rid of this stupid pig.

"You want it?" Harry choked out. "Then swim for it!"

With a solid heave of his arm, Harry tossed the pig into the pool. It landed with a loud splash, splattering his legs with chlorine-scented water. Harry stared at it along with everyone else, watched as the paper tags grew soggy and dark, the pink darkening to an ugly, muddled purple.

"Harry?"

Reluctantly, Harry turned around. There was Neville. His best friend, confused and hurt, looking at the damp paper with 'Neville Lardbottom' scrawled in black marker.

Harry’s mouth was dry, his voice cracking as he said, "Go home, Neville. Just—just go home. I'll explain later."

Neville's eyes scanned Harry's face. What he saw there must have disappointed him, not that Harry could fault him for that. Neville turned around and started to talk away. The crowd shuffled aside to make way for Neville's departure, leaving Harry with one final problem to deal with.

Harry shifted to look at Bellatrix. She was moving back and forth—or was that because he was the one swaying? But he knew what he had to do. What he had to say.

"I'm resigning from your  _ royal court, _ Bellatrix. You'll have to find a new scribe to kick around."

Bellatrix did not hesitate in walking up to him and seizing him by the lapels of his jacket. The sudden jerking motion triggered a fresh wave of dizziness in Harry.

_ "No," _ she hissed.

Her fragrance wafted up to meet him, too-sweet and overwhelmingly strong. Bellatrix was terrifyingly beautiful, but it had never been her beauty that enticed him. That honour went to the authority she oozed wherever she went. Harry had never wanted power for himself, but the concept of it had drawn him in.

Bellatrix bared her teeth and shoved him backwards. Harry's teeth chattered noisily. There was a stabbing pain in his gut that hinted at imminent calamity.

"Stop that," he protested weakly. "I'm not feeling well."

"You don't  _ get _ to be a nobody," Bellatrix said loudly, her voice loud enough to reach the audience of their peers. "Come Monday, you will be an ex-somebody. What your cousin does to you is child's play compared to the hell I will unleash," she snarled. "I will turn the whole school against you. It's almost laughably easy. The school staff will have to scrape your pathetic remains off of the cafeteria floor." 

Harry could hardly hear what she was saying. His head was so heavy, stuffed full of cotton, and a cold sweat had broken out across his forehead and down his back.

"I said—" Nausea swept through him, vicious and unforgiving. Before he could stop it, bile rose in his throat, burning like fire all the way. Harry’s body curled forward on instinct, and he expelled everything he’d consumed over the past few hours all over Bellatrix's heel-clad feet.

It was comical, the hush that fell over the crowd. Harry had probably just ruined designer shoes that cost hundreds of dollars. Huh. Now that thought was  _ actually _ hysterical—it prompted Harry to cough out a disastrous attempt at a laugh.

Then Bellatrix let out an ear-splitting scream that was downright inhuman, both in volume and in pitch. If not for the fact that he'd just thrown up all over her, Harry would have covered his ears. Though his nausea had subsided, his head felt like someone had taken a croquet mallet to it.

Bellatrix stepped away from him and inhaled deeply. She seemed to be gathering her wits, and therefore Harry was unsurprised when she started yelling again.

"I raised you up from  _ nothing!" _ she shrieked. "And what's my thanks? I get paid in puke?!"

Harry was utterly exhausted and frankly fucking annoyed that she was yelling at him and making his headache worse. He wanted to lie down in some dark, undisturbed corner of the world and conk out for twelve hours or so. For the first time in his life, the dingy darkness of the cupboard under the stairs seemed like an excellent place to be. 

"Lick it up, then," Harry snarked, fed up with her attitude, her voice, her  _ everything. _ "Lick. It. Up."

The crowd gasped and whistled, but Bellatrix recovered from the insult faster than Harry expected. She straightened with dignity and regarded him with nothing less than pure loathing.

"Well, we shall see if that cheerful attitude carries you through the weekend, won't we?" she asked brightly. "After all, I know who  _ I'll _ be sitting with for lunch on Monday." Bellatrix held a hand to her chest and flashed him a bright, innocent smile that belied the savage triumph in her eyes. "Do  _ you?" _

Harry had no response to give. He did not need to look at his fellow classmates to know they would shun him at Bellatrix's behest. They would do what they were told because Bellatrix was the one telling them. Anyone Harry sat with at lunch would become a fresh target for abuse and bullying, and that included Neville, who Harry had dragged into this mess with misguided intentions. Fuck. Harry couldn't even go back to sitting with Neville at lunch, not in good conscience. He couldn’t sit with anyone.

"That's right," Bellatrix said softly. "You're all alone now. Itty bitty baby Potter. There is no one out there who can protect you from  _ me." _

Harry’s throat seized a second time, and for a horrific second he thought he might throw up again. But it was not vomit that choked him—it was fear and despair overwhelming his senses. School had always been a sanctuary of sorts for him, and now that was lost too.

Instinct gripped his limbs; the sweet promise of escape was calling to him. Harry needed to get away, and he needed to get away  _ now. _ Away from the judgmental eyes of his classmates, away from Bellatrix and her twisted need for control.

Harry turned on the spot and ran.

* * *

In the dark, it was difficult for Harry to tell where he was. It had been years since Harry had visited Piers' house. This deep into the neighbourhood, all the houses and streets looked the same. Harry didn’t even have a mobile phone to help navigate himself.

He couldn’t stand around and do nothing. He had to get home eventually, even if he hated it there. Harry sighed. He would walk in the direction they had originally arrived from until he recognized a street name, and then he would make a new decision. At any rate, the cold air and relative silence were working to soothe his throbbing head. The nausea from before was gone, and he felt physically better than he had only minutes ago. Now that the source of his stress was far away, he was free to think more clearly. 

The party would continue in his absence. Bellatrix would have the rest of the evening to craft her plans, to make sure that everyone knew that Harry Potter was at the top of her shit list.

Come Monday morning, Harry was doomed. Dudley would return to his usual bullying, only now he would be encouraged by Bellatrix's praise and attention. It would be a bloody miracle if Harry lasted until the end of the day without being assaulted. They would, as she had said, need to scrape his remains off the cafeteria floor.

But that was Monday. Monday was still hours and hours away. Starting from whatever ungodly hour it was right now, until eight AM on Monday morning, Harry would be alright so long as he didn’t go home. If he went home, Dudley would get him.

If this was any other night, he would have gone to bunk at Neville's, which was the only safe place he had to go to when the Dursleys were acting up. But Harry had fucked things up enough with Neville tonight. He wasn't going to impose himself on Neville any more.

Harry hit the end of the street he was walking. He squinted up at the street signs to read the cross street and was disappointed to note that he did not recognize either of them.

This was what happened when you didn't get out much, he thought glumly. If this kept up, he'd end up spending the night on the street. In the morning, he could see if there was an adult to ask for directions.

Harry turned his face to the sky, to the stars and the moon. This was shitty and awful. He'd brought trouble down on himself and now his life would be over. Dreams of leaving this dumpy town for somewhere better were a joke. He was going to be stuck here forever, the whipping boy of Hogwarts High even after he graduated. Alone and powerless.

Just once, Harry wanted to be in control of his own life. To have some say in what happened to him. He had tried to be a good person, but that had failed. Then he'd been a terrible person, and that had backfired on him. It seemed like no matter what he did, he was destined to suffer for it.

So what point was there in trying to adhere to the norms dictated by society? Society hated him. His own family hated him. By Monday morning, his school would hate him too.

Harry looked over the rooftops and chimneys of the nearby houses, absently tracing their silhouettes with his gaze. In the far, far distance, he could make out the top of the house on the hill. The haunted house, the Gaunt House. The house that, according to the Black sisters, Tom and his father had moved into.

All of a sudden, Harry's aimless wandering had a new purpose, and that purpose was to get to the Gaunt house as quickly as possible. His pace quickened, his heart race increasing irrationally. Tom would like to see him, wouldn't he? Tom didn't care what other people thought and could hold his own in a fight.

Even if—even if the answer was no, at least Harry had tried. At least he'd done something other than feel sorry for himself all weekend long.

But Tom  _ wouldn't _ say no. Harry was wildly certain of this. Tom would not say no because Tom was different from everyone else. Tom saw things clearly where Harry could not. Harry had let the shine of his new lifestyle distract him from the truth, but Tom had known from the very start that Harry had made a huge mistake by aligning himself with Bellatrix Black.

So many things had gone wrong today; too many to count. Pretty much all of them were his fault. Harry's biggest regret today, though, was that he'd turned down Tom's offer to stay at the 7-11. If only he'd said yes, all of this could have been avoided. Neville had only gone to the party because of him. Bellatrix had only done all this because of him.

Turning Tom down was a mistake that Harry could make right. He would go to Tom's house and apologize. He would confess all that had happened and hope that Tom would help him figure out what to do. How to cope with being an outcast, how to live a life drenched in misery, how to forget the scars that hurt the most.

Harry’s feet carried him forward. He was a man possessed, clinging to the lifeline of Tom’s cavalier attitude. Harry liked both girls and boys, but Tom was—well, Tom was the first boy that Harry had met in person and liked.

If Tom wanted to stick by him... they could survive the rest of the school year together. Harry thought that Tom was interested in him—Tom had offered to buy him a Slurpee. But if that perceived interest was a fantasy, another stupid dream to toss down the drain pipe, then that was okay, too. Harry could live with that. 

But there had to be  _ something _ good in the universe. Harry felt he was owed that: one good thing. He hoped that maybe Tom Riddle could be that good thing.

Some minutes later, Harry was walking up hill, towards the Gaunt house. The house was more frightening in the dark; it loomed tall and large, its hedges unkempt, its side wall covered in ivy. Harry made his way around to the gap in the fencing. The hole from his childhood was still there; Tom’s father must not have bothered to repair it given they did not plan to stay very long.

So the hole was the same, but Harry was larger than he had once been. It took a good bit of careful maneuvering to fit himself through the gap. The last thing Harry wanted was to cut himself open on the jagged fencing and get some kind of infection.

Once he was through, Harry straightened carefully and adjusted his clothes. At least he hadn’t thrown up on himself back at Piers’ house. His breath probably stank, though. Harry fumbled with his pockets and retrieved a beaten-up pack of spearmint gum. The same gum he had informed Tom that he usually purchased at the 7-11.

Harry popped out two pieces and crammed them into his mouth. While he chewed, he examined the upper floor of the house. All the lights were off save for one of the rooms. Harry squinted at the window—he could make out the barest hint of a silhouette. He thought it might be Tom, but he wasn’t sure.

It would be embarrassing to get the wrong window, but Harry was not about to knock on the front door in the middle of the night. Once he got up there, he’d have a better view. Hopefully. God, he really was about to climb up to Tom’s window in the middle of the night like they were the lead roles in some Shakespeare play. This was a terrible, cheesy idea. Knowing this wasn’t going to stop him, for some reason. 

Harry spat his gum out into the wrappers and wadded it up. After a moment’s debate, he left it on the stone base of the fence. He wasn’t going to stick it in his pocket like an idiot and wind up with sticky clothes. The environment could hang itself for one night.

Cracking his knuckles, Harry set to work. There was a nice, sturdy tree on the left side that made for a good starting point. From there, he could use the bits of house that stuck out to make his way to the window. Then he would take a look and see how well a rap on the window would be received.

Harry scaled the tree with ease. He was used to climbing them to escape Dudley and his friends. Then Harry crept off the tree and onto the house, silent as a mouse. The structure of the house was cold beneath his fingertips, but it was not unbearable. He could manage so long as he was careful.

Harry was plastered to the wall, three meters from the window, when a sudden creaking sound scared the shit out of him. This was followed by the light shutting off. It took every ounce of willpower he had left not to shriek like a baby. Slowly, Harry looked over in the direction of the noise.

Tom—or someone who looked very much like Tom—had opened the window. Harry breathed out, trying to still his thumping heart, and continued his slow crawl towards the opening. Then, at last, he arrived. Harry exhaled softly, his breath partly-fogging against his glasses. Gathering his courage, Harry craned his head around the edge. 

The lights were off, but there was the dim glow of a reading lamp to illuminate the room. Tom was on his bed, book in hand, flipping idly through the pages. His usual coat was nowhere in sight; instead Harry was greeted with the unfair vision that was a tousle-haired, t-shirt wearing bastard who probably belonged in some fancy clothing advert.

Ah well, whatever. He was here, he was pissed at the world, and Tom was either going to let him in or not. With a steady hand, Harry rapped quietly on the window and waited for a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i've said this fifty times over the past two days but: happy new year everyone! wishing you all the best for 2021.
> 
> i'm still kind of,,, iffy on if i like this? if i end up rewriting chunks of this story, such will be life 😔
> 
> next chapter will continue the theme of 'dead girl walking'!

**Author's Note:**

> find me & my writing updates on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com)!
> 
> feel free to join my personal discord server for my writing [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


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